Rough Morning
by Raykushi
Summary: Recovering a memory can be painful for all parties involved. Mokuba and Seto brotherly fluff. Drabblefic. Winner of the weekly ygodrabble LJ community on 8/16/10, word prompt: Lost and Found. Please come visit and join the community if you like! Word count: 779


Title: Rough Morning

Author: Raykushi

Disclaimer: Rights to Yu-Gi-Oh belong to Kazuki Takahashi and others. This is a fan piece only and no monetary gain comes from its publication.

Prompt word: Lost and Found (This drabble won the contest for this word prompt in fact! :D )

Summary: Recovering a memory can be painful for all parties involved.

Warnings: none

Pairings: none

Community: ygodrabble . livejournal . com (Please go visit and feel free to join if you like writing Yu-Gi-Oh drabbles! Erase extra spaces when using link.)

Word count: 779

**Rough Morning**

Each morning Mokuba wandered to the breakfast table, hair messed and rubbing at his eyes, half tripping over his slippers. And each morning his brother was seated already with newspaper and coffee. Mokuba didn't have to look up to know the solid presence was there at the table. He just slid into his chair and started in on the breakfast that the housekeeper set in front of him.

It was a daily ritual to have breakfast in silence, but it was a comfortable one. After Mokuba finished, he stacked his plates and carried them to the kitchen, a bit more awake by then. It wasn't unusual to see one of the kitchen staff washing dishes around this time; the woman who was standing at the sink today was new. Her dark hair was done up on top of her head, and she shifted side to side just slightly as she worked. She was quietly singing to herself.

Mokuba stopped there just inside the kitchen doorway, two small plates and a cup stacked in his hands, and stared. There was something about the scene before him that plucked some string inside his brain. Something rippled, like a thought or a memory, but slipped away when he tried to grasp at it.

The boy shook himself suddenly and set the dishes down on the counter with a clatter. He missed the woman's startled look, as he was already running back to the breakfast table at full speed. He grabbed the back of his chair to halt his dash. "Nii-sama."

Blue eyes flicked up from the newspaper.

"Did mom sing when she washed the dishes?"

His brother's expression grew stony.

Mokuba fidgeted. It was an unspoken rule between the Kaiba brothers that they didn't talk about their parents, a rule that Mokuba didn't much follow by choice but rather from the fact that he barely remembered them. "I-I just thought it," he said in a low voice.

Seto folded his newspaper and dropped it on the table, standing up smoothly. "We don't have time for this right now, we're going to be late. Get ready for school. Don't forget your backpack." He turned to exit the room, coffee cup left behind on the table for the housekeeper to collect.

And Mokuba got angry.

"Nii-sama, it's not fair!" he shouted at his brother's broad back, bringing him to a halt. Hot words poured out. "_You_ remember them! _You_ don't have to worry about forgetting them! I want to talk about them! You're not being fair! I used to remember them more than now..."

Seto's weapon of choice during their rare arguments was silence. He didn't respond to any of Mokuba's accusations as he left the room; he stalked through the Kaiba mansion on a long-legged stride so that Mokuba had to run to keep up with him, not letting him get away without an answer. At his bedroom door, Seto stopped and turned on his heel.

"Go get ready for school, Mokuba," he ordered, before closing the door.

Mokuba almost kicked the door, but instead turned and stomped down the hall as loud as he could.

Ten minutes later, the two Kaiba brothers met in silence by the front door. And in silence they walked to the waiting limo and got in. The air was awkward and heavy as the limo drove downtown.

They pulled up to Mokuba's school first, and the vehicle stopped in front.

"Mokuba."

The boy glared up at Seto sullenly through a curtain of black bangs. "What?"

"She sang. She turned the radio on whenever she did housework, and she sang to every song." The older Kaiba's face was pinched, as if the words were sandpaper that had to be dragged out of his throat. Mokuba sat there, stunned. "She was impatient. During commercials she would change the station to find more music, rather than wait. The radio dials would get soapy water on them, and father would chide her for it if he saw. He always said she'd short-circuit herself."

Silence descended again on the limo's interior. It was more words than his brother had ever said to him before in one conversation, concerning their parents. And Mokuba thought he could maybe remember it, a little, with Seto's voice describing the scene. He had an image in his head of an old-fashioned radio, the kind with round dials, sitting on a table in a tiny kitchen with yellow walls.

Mokuba didn't care that the school bell was going to ring. He launched himself across the seat, wrapped his arms around his brother's neck, and clung.

Seto hugged his little brother back, and ignored the wetness on his shoulder.


End file.
